


Shrunken Shirt

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lark schemes but Rosethorn doesn't mind too terribly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shrunken Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> I think I wrote this for some sort of challenge when I was 15. I wrote this and the second chapter in a notebook which my brother found when I was probably 16 and he was 14. I remember him telling me, "You know, it's not bad." I told him it was just because it had lesbians; he didn't deny that fact.
> 
> Not too in character, but I'm also not too terribly bothered.

Rosethorn stormed into Lark’s workroom, the skirts of her habit slashing through the air with audible cracks. Lark was barely able to glance up from her loom before the plant mage spoke in a growl.

“My favourite shirt has just shrunk due to your temper!” Rosethorn stated testily, holding up a small, white silk shirt that looked about the size a child would wear.

“And yet you are stampeding in here with a face as red as one of your famous tomatoes,” Lark retorted with a mock sneer, though she could not hide the sparkle in her eyes.

“I’ve got every right to! I’m going to Summersea in little more than a week and suddenly half my outfit is small enough to fit a _child_,” she snarled, glaring. She noticed the sparkle in Lark’s eyes and recalled the amusement that had been in her voice. Puzzled but still angered, Rosethorn raised both eyebrows and tapped a foot impatiently. “What’s so humorous?”

“Well, you, for one thing. But also that you figured I shrank your shirt accidentally. I will repair your shirt,” Lark replied steadily and smiled, rising gracefully and walking to the door. As she closed it she heard Rosethorn speak.

“What is this nonsense? My shirt is ineffectual and you tell me it’s intentional? Explain,” the smaller woman ordered impatiently. She crossed her arms, the shirt still tucked in one fist. Her foot continued tapping.

Lark walked to her impatient visitor, her smile transforming into a lustful grin. She placed a gentle hand on Rosethorn’s and urged, “Pass me that lovely shirt of yours, dear?”

Rosethorn nodded sceptically, one eyebrow still arched. She gazed up into the eyes of the thread mage, attempting to gauge if this was one of Lark’s many ploys to get them together for alone time.

Lark left Rosethorn to her pondering and looked down at the shirt she had taken from her visitor’s hand. The fine silk thread that made up the cloth called to Lark, telling her of their itch to return to their accustomed size. After all, they added, _you _were the one who spun and wove us the way we were before

Lark chuckled at that and apologised through her magic as she steadied herself, following the meditative breathing exercise. After she was stable, she looked at the cloth with her Magic’s eyes. With her magical self, she pulled gently at each thread, working gently with her magic shaped into two nimble, gentle hands.

When at last she saw that the shirt was back to its normal size, Lark sighed contently. She couldn’t help but blush, thinking of where the shirt rested on Rosethorn and how the threads must feel against her creamy skin. With that thought the thread mage blinked and stretched, groaning slightly at the complaints of her muscles. When she placed the shirt over her arm and looked around, she saw Rosethorn sitting in the chair near the loom, toying with her habit and looking straight at Lark.

That’s funny, how long have I been working? Lark thought, walking on stiff legs to the other woman. Lark put the shirt in Rosethorn’s lap.

“How long was I out?” Lark asked with a nervous laugh, leaning against a stable part of the loom. She looked to Rosethorn and noticed that her cheeks were slightly coloured. Lark couldn’t help but wonder what the plant mage was thinking about.

“About a half an hour—you must have been distracted. The Hub clock just announced that rest period. Thank you for mending my shirt, even if you sullied it in the first place,” Rosethorn replied, crossing her legs and leaning back against the chair. In doing so, her habit rode down and revealed the stretch of skin around her neck and collarbone. Lark so wished to caress and spoil the area with kisses that she trembled with the effort of restraining herself. Rosethorn arched a delicate brow and looked Lark in the eye, asking suddenly, “Was this another of your schemes?”

“Is it wrong for a woman to desire some quality time with her love?” Lark replied with an impish smirk and walked to the smaller woman, offering a hand.

Rosethorn took the hand and Lark helped her up, then brought the hand to her mouth and kissed Rosethorn’s knuckles lightly. It wasn’t so much a kiss, rather Lark’s lips brushing softly against Rosethorn’s skin. She coloured deeply in response and placed her free hand on the willowy woman’s hip.

Lark leaned down slowly and kissed Rosethorn squarely on her the lips, done pretending. Rosethorn laced her fingers with Lark’s at their touching hands and began to pull lightly toward the door, eyes a-sparkle.

As the two walked toward the door Rosethorn couldn’t help but question, “Why did you go through with this whole scheme when you knew rest period was coming up, anyway?”

Lark smiled at her companion’s curiosity before replying, “You know as well as I that had I not made you come, you would have worked in that garden of yours right through rest period without even stopping for a drink. I’m jealous of your plants and how you care for them so.”

Rosethorn coloured again and looked down to hide a sheepish grin. She rested her head on the taller woman’s shoulder. “Well, then. Since you’ve gone through all the trouble, I’ll care for you in just the way you like through rest period and beyond. We can even stargaze on the roof tonight before the midnight service. How does that sound?”

“The best gift anyone could give—not that I’d want it from anyone but you!” Lark exclaimed giddily, barely controlling the urge to skip or at least sing out in joy. Possibly even a cartwheel would have been considered. By that time they had reached the door to Lark’s bedroom and entered, closing the door behind them.

They didn’t reappear outside the room for hours, long after rest period had finished. The stars seemed to shine brighter in the evening.


	2. Rosethorn's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosethorn gets her revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I wrote this chapter a few months to a year after the first chapter. Funnily enough, this was also my brother's first introduction to my writing: I left my notebook somewhere in the house and he found it. He brought it back later and grudgingly admitted, "Not too bad." Best to let him know what sort of stuff I wrote right off the bat, eh? :P

Rosethorn grinned wickedly. Chestnut hair fell before alabaster skin as she leaned forward, kneeling to care for a sassy young bean vine. The plant had snaked its way to her; she ordered it to return to its proper resting place.

"I'll get that bird of mine today for sure," the green mage remarked with the grin still plastered to her lips. It had been two weeks since Lark had tricked her into alone time; Rosethorn wanted her revenge. A few of the plants around the woman bristled for a moment, all asking innocently—in a great number of ways—why she wished revenge on the bird-named human that often visited the garden. She is gentle with us, they added.

Rosethorn tilted back her head and laughed aloud.

Others must think I'm a crazed wench, cackling while I'm supposedly alone in a garden, she thought. She released a small thread of her power to each of the plants before replying that Lark had tricked her into working up a temper and then into spending the day together only a fortnight ago. The plants gave off a feeling of understanding at the answer. Rosethorn continued her gardening while she thought of a plan for revenge.

 

[ --- ||| --- ]

 

Lark sighed contently and reclined against her chair-back. She thoroughly enjoyed weaving, but it did mean she had to sit with a perfectly straight back. She had been sitting in that position for hours and needed a nice stretch.

As the thread mage stood she stretched her arms and pressed her hands against the small of her back. She rotated her torso from side to side to rid the kinks. Pleased, she walked out of the workshop toward the kitchen to grab a drink. As she poured, she noticed that the potted plants in the room seemed stiffer than usual, as if they were soldiers on guard. Lark shrugged; Rosethorn would take care of it.

Lark downed the drink and placed the cup in the basin before taking a few steps in the direction of her workshop. She paused as a different idea crossed her mind: instead, she walked into Rosethorn's workshop. On the way a plant's leaf grazed her naked hand; she shivered at the contact.

I'll get some exercise, Lark thought. It'll loosen up this knot a bit.

 

[ --- ||| --- ]

 

Rosethorn smirked and rubbed her palms together. She cackled under her breath.

It's more fun acting daft than I thought, Rosethorn realized, amused. She had finally conceptualised a plan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a green blur. Curious, she turned to see Lark turning a cartwheel. The limber woman went on to do a round off, back fli and a backwards roll. She finished in a right pretzel and then stood to brush the grass and dirt from her habit.

Rosethorn blinked, thoroughly surprised. She hadn't seen Lark perform moves like that since...well, never in her recollection. Sure, Lark turned a cartwheel here and there, but Rosethorn had never seen her perform a show like that.

Lark will always amaze me, the gardener thought, and slowly went back to her previous task. Her movements were sluggish, as her mind was still replaying the sight of Lark's athletic and limber performance.

The ex-tumbler returned to her workshop breathing heavily but quite soothed. She remembered the feeling of exhaustion by the over-use of magic, but somehow physical weariness of the muscles felt relaxing and pleasant—familiar. She enjoyed performing her old tumbling moves.

 

[ --- ||| --- ]

 

The loom lingered before the Earth Dedicate and reminded her of the work to come. Lark sat again and began to weave the yarn: her cloth was almost complete. She had an hour of work left, all totalled. From the corner of her eye she saw movement in her hemp basket, but she ignored it.

It's probably the wind, reasoned the working thread mage. She was concentrating too completely on her work to recollect that the cloth surrounding her workshop was warded against wind.

A while later Lark felt something graze her calf. Her attention jumped to the hemp yarn snaking passed her leg. While she was distracted, flax yarn slithered down from her shoulder and wrapped around her wrists. By the time she knew what was occurring, it was too late: her wrists and ankles were tied with plant material; a shocked expression reigned over Lark's features.

A face materialised in front of Lark's inner eye: Rosethorn, her mind informed her slyly. Lark nodded and tested her ability to hop. It would have been hard for most, but the ex-tumbler still had the balance from hours on the high bar; the woman hopped to the door.

 

[ --- ||| --- ]

 

Rosethorn glanced up when she heard a sound at the door. She had been grooming the herbs in her workshop. What she looked up to find was quite an odd sight: Lark stood there, tall as ever and rightfully appearing a combination of puzzled, curious and miffed. The plant mage smiled slowly: her plan had worked thus far.

"Dearest Rosethorn, might I ask why I've been restrained?" Lark inquired dryly, beginning to grin. She knew what this was about; she had expected it in some form or another.

"Ah, my darling, you'd have to come closer for me to answer that," Rosethorn replied seductively, eyes hooded. She threw out a thread of her magic; it wrapped around the flax tied around Lark's wrists. With a firm tug of the magical cord, Lark fell forward into the room. Lark fell, unable to get her feet under her.

Rosethorn was there to catch Lark and did so with surprising grace. Rosethorn lowered herself and Lark to the firmly-packed dirt floor. The shorter woman straightened and separated her legs before pulling Lark into a sitting position between them.

Rosethorn pressed her front against Lark's back and placed her chin upon Lark's shoulder. Rosethorn's arms snaked around the taller woman's waist.

"You know precisely why," she whispered against Lark's neck, her breath hot and steamy.

Lark shuddered as she felt Rosethorn's heat pressed against her back. She regained control of herself, though she could not stop the heat gathering between her legs in response to Rosethorn's closeness. At last Lark spoke in no more than a whisper; she felt weak all over from want. "Two can play this game."

The green habit signifying Rosethorn's dedication to the Earth Gods flinched; a second later the habit was unlatching itself and sliding to where Rosethorn's hands rested at Lark's abdomen. Rosethorn wore a white cotton shirt and brown cotton breeches. In fact, all clothing on her was created with cotton.

Just as the habit began to cover Rosethorn's hands she grinned against Lark's shoulder. Her whisper was amused: "Now, now, little bird. I'm sure you're well aware that our habits are cotton, and also where cotton comes from. Unless you wish for the both of us to exhaust ourselves with magic, I'd suggest you give up on that idea."

The material jumped from Rosethorn's hands and landed spread over the legs of the two women.

Lark realised that at this moment she was at Rosethorn's command: the green mage wore all cotton, her workspace was filled with green life and Lark was restrained with plants. She sighed in defeat and leaned her head back against Rosethorn's. "All right, Rosie. I admit defeat—for now—and I am at your will. What do you wish of me?"

Rosethorn smiled genuinely and brushed her lips against Lark's cheek. Her whisper was soft and haughty; it tickled the dark-skinned woman's ear. "I wish you to come with me and do as I say."

The restrained woman nodded, somehow enjoying this moment of utter humiliation. Moments such as this had been common during her life as a tumbler: many lovers participated in this rough play. Lark hadn't realised that she had missed it until now.

The ties at Lark's ankles slithered away and wrapped themselves around a table leg. Rosethorn stood carefully and then helped Lark stand. Rosethorn held the extra of Lark's wrist-ties and tugged: the tall woman stumbled forward into Rosethorn. She shook her head, grinning wickedly.

"Now that simply will not do. Someone needs to be chastised," Rosethorn scolded mockingly. She bit Lark's shoulder.

There wasn't much pain, but the touch was electric. To play along, Lark looked down, contriving an ashamed façade. Rosethorn reached out and cupped the taller woman's cheek; it was soft and gentle, leaving tingles to trail away from the touch. Lark shivered and nuzzled into the flesh of Rosethorn's hand.

"Does someone desire some attention?" Rosethorn questioned mockingly, her voice low in imitation of a man's. She brought her hand to the opening between Lark's legs and wiggled her fingers over the sensitive spot; Lark bit her bottom lip and swallowed hard in response. She attempted to ignore the throbbing want between her legs.

Rosethorn gave a cheeky grin and removed the contact Lark yearned for. The willowy dedicate looked to the floor and pitched forward when Rosethorn pulled the restraint. As the two women made their way to Rosethorn's room, the plants and cloth in the room stirred.

Often, Rosethorn was a gentle lover; other times, she played the commander. Lark was the same. To Lark, love was a mutual relationship. She enjoyed this technique of Rosethorn's equally as much as her others. Perhaps it was even a touch more fun.

Rosethorn stopped at her closed door and pushed Lark's back to it. The green mage rose to kiss Lark with passion and pressure. As the kiss grew in intensity Lark lost all logical thoughts: she didn't have any need for them at that point, anyway.

Rosethorn turned the doorknob and shoved the door open while she continued to massage Lark's mouth and tongue with her own. The two fell back on the bed with Rosethorn atop Lark. Rosethorn her lover and tied the leftovers of her ties to the bedpost. A strong wind bustled through the window and slammed the door shut.

Rosethorn may not have had skulls hanging from hooks in her ceiling, but she certainly had quite a few torturous tools hidden in less visible locations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. (:

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
